“A Donkey Sanctuary. Do you know how literally shit that sounds? It’s a marginal step up from a stinking pig sty!”
“No man, that’s the code-name for it, it’s a time capsule and the donkey name came from…, well I don’t fucking know”
Unconvinced we pulled up beside what looked like a partially built mansion with no trace of stubborn mules to be seen.
“Is this it?”, I stated visibly showing a lack of belief.
“Should be”, said my comrade getting out of the car and jogging over to the entrance. I had little choice but to follow.
The planning development notice was at least a year old, but knowing the speed of British builders who spend 97% of their working day drinking tea I was hardly shocked at the lack of progress.
What I could see was a guess and the ‘new property’, but this was no time capsule laden with ancient valuables. It was the end of the day, and I was up for anything. If it was a simple renovation then we would walk.
Edging past some fencing we quickly entered the grounds and made for a large hole in the side of the house. It wasn’t just a hole, the whole wall appeared to be missing. If Sameer Patel likes lots of ventilation and fresh air (as well as freezing snow and severe gales), then he’s one lucky bloke.
Once inside proper I gazed upon a lovely property with white painted French doors at the rear. Why it would contain a single leather luxury chair is anyone’s guess?
I found it strange that the downstairs décor looked intact and yet, there’s a whole wall missing?
The grand stairway, with protective coverings on the rails and no signs of vandal painting on any of the walls. Hopefully, the property is now sealed and lived in. I would rather it stay this way.
It does make a change for us to be able to use the local facilities, though despoiling them didn’t feel good. We left the bathroom alone.
Now what’s going on here, is there body behind that bricked up section? It was looking great until we found this piece of classic cowboy building work.
I would not say no to living here, but would ditch the bath. They are so last century. I suppose with that positioning you could perform some effective voyeurism.
This was starting to become a ‘reno’ with nothing interesting, but then I happened upon a room full of ‘stuff’.
Why don’t people protect their investments a little better? There’s an oversize gap in the side of your future house, begging for vandals to visit and smash the place up, and to top it off several valuables to boot.
The deluxe cutlery set shone with dazzling brilliance. This was no cheap shoddy dining set, but a few pieces appeared to be missing.
A bunch of paperwork, all relating to a Mr Awais of Oldham, a town of 30-40 miles distant. This was attached to a cheque book once but why is it here?
Mr Awais has lived at more than one address and is likely of Pakistani origin. I did a google check and the former one is a regular terraced house, and nothing like the quality of style of this newly built mansion.
The miscellaneous notes date back to 1993.
Is it Awais, or Awis? He’s trying to stay in the UK, but did he succeed? The enclosed letter was sadly missing.
Awais I think. He paid National Insurance but no tax? Even minimum wage employees have to pay some tax.
Fuck knows what type of employer this was. If he was working illegally then there would be no wage slips, or was the rogue employer pulling a fast one?
...'I will have that extra cash thanks Mohammed! - The Boss'...
Finally, I found a payment slip from ‘Park Cakes’, a dodgy local bakery a past friend of mine used to work for and it seems he wasn’t making a lot. In 2004, £185 a week after tax is downright dismal. I remember getting around £900 a month in 1992.
At least he’s paying some tax now. A fine upstart member of the community, forced into legal slavery.
What was the sinister link between Mr Awais and Mr Patel?
The latter sounds Indian; there’s no love lost between Indians and Pakistanis.
Had Mr Awais won the lottery, changed his name, nationality and invested in a mansion?
Was Mr Awais a trapped sex slave, had tried to escape, infiltrated the local bakery (and got a job somehow), been caught by that scheming dastardly Patal and had been bricked up behind that wall for copulation non-compliance?
As tempted as we were to chop down the secret wall in order to reveal the terrible truth, the sight of a naked Pakistani male corpse was far too much to bear.
...It was after 6pm; some grizzly sights are strictly AM only, and on Mondays, and only when the sun is shining a bright brilliant green....
We left with more questions than answers and feeling a little guilty about traipsing around the possible murderer, Mr Patel’s future home.
EPILOGUE: The “Donkey Sanctuary” was three houses further along on the same road. Shit happens eh?
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